Issue no 2, March 1995

Treading the hard road to success

It has been said that to be truly successful, one cannot afford
to waste time in relaxation. If a case study of this rather severe
maxim is needed, Chris Salisbury's life will do well enough.

Now 65, Dr Salisbury was a GP until his retirement a few years ago,
who taught himself archaeology in his spare time and became a
recognised
specialist in waterlogged wood. For nearly 20 years, almost every
evening and weekend have been taken up by his obsessive interest in
the subject - mostly in the slow, unglamorous work of recording
the archaeology of local gravel pits during extraction.

The importance of the work, however, is underlined by the
occasional
major discovery requiring immediate rescue excavation - such as
the first of three medieval bridges across the Trent that he spotted
recently at Hemington near Castle Donington.

Chris Salisbury is a man who avoids novels, which he adores,
because
they are `a waste of time', and who avoids most social life -
arguing that `an archaeologist with a social life is probably not
a good archaeologist.' He admits that his obsessive interest
contributed
to the breakdown of his first marriage; but he married again (this
time to an archaeologist, although she promptly switched jobs and
became a solicitor).

And his reward for all this dedication? Personal satisfaction
aside,
he was named Archaeologist of the Year in the 1994 British
Archaeological
Awards, and in addition won the Pitt Rivers Award for the best amateur
project for his work at Hemington.

I met Dr Salisbury at his home, a traditional Nottinghamshire
cottage
with a new extension built painstakingly in the local vernacular
idiom.
Fastidious in all things, he designed and supervised the work himself.
`I had to keep my eye on the builder every minute of the day. He did
that part wrong,' he said, pointing to a whole section of wall,
`and I made him do it all again.'

Chunks of the Hemington bridges - he insists they had no
conservation
value - are incorporated into the new building as lintels and
door-sills; other chunks litter the driveway. Indeed, his entire
garden
is a kind of archaeological builder's yard - with a rockery shaped
like a long barrow, a flight of steps built out of a Roman well, and
medieval anchor weights lined up against the back fence.

For a driven man, Dr Salisbury is surprisingly gentle in manner,
with
a soft voice and a diffident smile. There is something boyish about
his enthusiasms. He delights, for instance, in showing me the
Sheela-na-Gig
- a woman displaying her genitals, from medieval iconography -
painted above his porch, and the brick phallus carved for his wife
by a volunteer on one of her excavations. `He was an ex-convict,'
Dr Salisbury explained.

However, if you had visited Dr Salisbury as a patient, this is
probably
not the side of him you would have seen. Hard on himself, he is also
hard on others, refusing to prescribe `unnecessary' drugs for the
third of patients nationally who visit their doctor with no detectable
physical symptoms. He sent such patients away with a flea in their
ear if they complained.

He has the same uncompromising attitude towards fellow amateur
archaeologists
who `whinge' about the supposed over-professionalisation of the
discipline.
`There is plenty of archaeology that needs to be done. They should
simply go out and do it,' he said.

Partly for these reasons, Dr Salisbury professes himself `dead
against'
the Council for Independent Archaeology - an organisation set
up to promote the interests of amateurs - predicting that it would
`turn amateurs sloppy'.

`The proper role for amateurs is to be handmaidens to the
professionals
- as nurses are to doctors,' he said. `Professionals are responsible
for maintaining rigorous standards, and I use them as my role models.
I am, of course, better than many professionals, but that's because
they are bad professionals.'

These are scrupulous words from a man whose talents
entitle him to greater immodesty. Dr Salisbury is also a skilled
photographer, carpenter and craftsman, building props for the local
dramatic society and archaeological models for Nottingham's museums.

However, he says he has never wanted to be a professional
archaeologist
- saying the job involves `too much administration, and not enough
pay'.